Berserk
by Maahres
Summary: The story of Ja'far, before Sinbad and how the strange adventurer pulled him out of a hellhouse, when they finally met. /AKA how Ja'far's life could have been when he was still an assassin; Headcanons; T for lots of blood and gore depictations, murder and anything you can tie with an assassin.
1. Prologue

Angry. That was all he could be. That was all he _let_ himself be. Angry, angry, angry. Insanely angry, enraged, _mad. _ That was all they _wanted_ him to be.

Precise. Swift, quick and fast, but efficient. That was what he _needed _to be. That's what _they _needed him to be. That's what Master needed from him.

Cold. Ignorant, oblivious and mischievous. That's all what he _had_ to be. That's what _they_ made him into.

Vile, prideful, beaming, arrogant, crude and heartless, because that's what an assassin has to be. And he was one of them. He was an assassin. He was young, but taught the same rules as everyone else. Beaten up just like everyone else. Fed just like everyone else. He was a copy among copies of hundreds of years old teachings.

One of the few things that were his, was his name, for example. It was one of the very few things he could remember from his childhood. _Ja'far. _


	2. What is the price of a merchant?

**I am so sorry for the delay (I had this chapter almost done, but when I wanted to finish it today, I couldn't find it) and for the short chapters! Thank you for the reviews, it means much! If there is a mistake somehow, please tell me, I'm not a native speaker. Thanks again, and I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!**

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_**What is the price of a merchant?**_

No one noticed a young child huddled into himself in a corner of a dark alley. The child didn't care. He tried to keep himself warm while he held his stare on the inn across the street, watching as people went in and out. The smell of alcohol reeked from everything on sight, the men, the women, their clothes, their bodies, their movements and the slurred talk.

Disgusting.

He brought his knees closer to his chest, his arms comfortably hidden under the old cloak, gripping the two blades in his palms. A weak breeze blew through the alley, bringing a bit of fresh air into his lungs. Well, fresher, at least. Ja'far would close his eyes for a second to enjoy the loneliness. No one bothered him right now, he had no problems right now, there was just him and him alone. He couldn't, though, because as much as he would try to tell himself otherwise, the moment his green eyes flattered shut, he would fall asleep.

He couldn't fall asleep. There was something he needed to take care of first, something very important. To be specific, _someone._ A merchant, who currently resided in this city for a few weeks before taking off to another land and another city. No one would actually care about him, _his Master would not care about him_, he corrected himself, if the man had not enslaved a child from the protection of the House. A crime punishable only by death, as his Master said.

"One precious thing for another, Ja'far. This man holds his life dearest to him more than gold, so be it we take it. You take it, child. I trust you." the Highest teacher told him the day before. He was not going to fail him, not now or ever. _He wouldn't dare, no one did._

He figured something was going on inside the tavern, when someone started a loud argument. He recognized the merchant's voice, however, among the others. The door swung open and the man walked out, his face red and sweaty from yelling. The merchant walked pass him, not even glancing at the small, abandoned child sitting there in the corner.

When he was sure the man couldn't hear him, Ja'far stood up from his little hiding spot and turned to an old wall he was sitting against till now. If an adult tried to climb it, the wall would most likely collapse if they were not fast enough. But he was a child, and a quick child at that. _How __many__ times did he run away without any harm when he stole food?_

He climbed up the old building, following his target from roofs. This wasn't going exactly according to plan, he wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible, but because the man took off into a different direction than he came from, Ja'far had to follow him. His small back was slumped gradually forward in a (normally) awkward angle.

The man managed to make it into a small alleyway in his drunken stage, stumbling to a lonely door. Ja'far watched his every step now, calculating when and where to strike. The alley was small, but not narrow or dark. There were windows facing the street and a few had light in them. He couldn't afford anyone seeing his face aside from his target, because it was not like any of them could speak after their "accidental" encounter. He would be damned if they could. _But Master taught him a small trick for that, anyway.*_

He figured the best way for him to take this one out would be a clean cut and flight from the scene.

The boy watched the merchant's every move, every intake of breath. He was almost at the door, when the assassin lounged himself forward off the roof, precisely landing on the man's back. The man fell on the ground, already dizzy from the alcohol in his system. Before he could even try speaking, a sleek blade pierced his throat, exactly three times before disappearing. And the boy, the boy disappeared just as quick, unseen and unheard of.

The man's body twitched violently a few times, before slumping limply on the ground completely. An old woman would find him in the morning, the slaves would escape by then and his gold would be already stolen.

But before the dawn, Ja'far would not go back to the House. He would walk the streets, memorizing everything he could. It was not often they let them go out, only older children could go to the city if they were not on a mission.

Their Master had a way of asserting his authority, aside from punishments. Because a wise man knows he cannot raise children his way if he won't motivate them to his goal.

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Notes:

_*He told him to cut out their tongues. A mute man could not speak. _(The boy would eventually grow out of it a few months after, but he still entertained the idea from time to time.)


	3. The edge on which I stand

**I am **_**so**_** sorry for the delay! I almost broke two of the fingers on my left hand, and it hurt like a bitch whenever I tried to write. I'm okay now, though, so I'm uploading a chapter. Chapter four will be released approximately in two days, maybe even sooner. **

**Enjoy!**

_**The edge on which I stand**_

Three years ahead, around ten years after he was born, Ja'far was free to roam the streets of the city he already knew. Any other day before, he would be delighted to get out of the House, but that day, he was just gloomy. Something was terribly off about the whole atmosphere at the building. A group of his peers seemed uneasy and tense whenever someone walked next to them. The city itself was being burned by the noon sun and no clouds could've been seen staggering into its location. The rays burned his skin and made it swell and turn a nasty shade of red while his eyes were begging to tear up.

This gave him two options, stay inside his „home" and bear the tension and quick glances thrown by the other children every few seconds, or go out and give himself to the burning sun rays in exchange for fresh air. Of course he chose the second one.

The boy stood up from his place on the ground in a room where most of them slept in. None raised their heads when he walked past them to the door. As soon as the sound of the poor excuse of a door, made of heavy fabric and chains, closed behind him, he found himself face to face with a guard near a tall gate, which kept all of them inside. The child cautiously walked up to him, keeping a straight face.

"Name." The tall man stated, not sparing a single glance down.

"Ja'far," he replied and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt subconsciously in a moment of uncertainty.

The guard only nodded, though, and he already saw himself out in the street.

It was nearing five when the sun became more bearable for Ja'far to get out of the shadows he's been lurking in the whole day. If it were not for his past missions, he would probably have had no idea where he was. Because while the city was not one of the most prosperous, it was fairly big and its streets resembled the walls of a labyrinth.

On his way back, he saw little blue pieces of cloth, scattered around the roofs of various buildings, pinned so they wouldn't fly away with the wind. _Something was definitely off,_ he thought, stopping to pick up one of the strange marks. He recognized the material as soon as he touched it. Back when he got dragged into the House at age four, they would patch up all his wounds to get him into good training shape. And when he was ready to get his first mission, they would tie a blue stripe of fabric around upper arm.

And this was the exact same fabric they used, if his mind was not trying to trick him (and with memory as good as his, that rarely happened).

He snatched the cloth from the roof top and snuggled it under his shirt. Whatever was going on, it was not good. It couldn't have been, because scattering the starters' ribbons made no sense. And Ja'far feared and hated everything that made no sense. Later, maybe, he would confront one of his teachers about the fabric, but for now he figured it would be a good idea to keep it to himself. Whoever who scattered those around did not want them to be found, and he was sure it was none of his teachers who put the markers on the city rooftops.

Under half an hour he was standing under the great gate again, a bit shaken. His eyes were prickling from the wind that hit his face while he was sprinting along the roofs on his way back.

He knocked three times and the door opened, revealing his very disgruntled Master, Kahrez.

The man's glare softened for a moment, when he obviously did not saw the child he has been waiting for. Nevertheless, he crouched down to the young assassin's level, lightly gripping his small shoulders. Maybe it would have been a friendly gesture, if it were not Kahrez, master assassin. The more friendly he got, the more trouble would follow.

The boy jerked under the touch, looking into the older man's eyes with a visibly terrified expression. They were the colour of afternoon sun rays hitting an amber stone, the colour of precious stones, yet they were so cold and ruthless at the same time. Later on, Ja'far would realize, he never actually saw his Master's smile reach his eyes. Well, not the friendly and caring smile, anyway.

"Hey, Ja'far, this has been your first day out, right? How was it?" the man grinned.

"Sunny and unpleasantly hot," Ja'far gave a straightforward answer, hoping to bore Kahrez before he would engage in a conversation with him too much. The elder laughed, obviously in his "good mood".

"Well do you not like to complain! Listen, though, have you see Kari? I need to speak to him about something. Only something little," there was that cold smile again, when he spoke about another unfortunate child that somehow disobeyed his orders.

"I have not, Master." The boy stated, wrinkling the hem of his dirty shirt.

Kahrez stood up, finally letting go of Ja'far, who almost fell backwards from releasing so much tension. The man dusted himself off, letting the child get back into the house. Ja'far stumbled a bit, still overwhelmed from the encounter. Even if someone didn't find Kari's corpse on the pavement tomorrow, he would still not show up for a few days.

Kahrez was in a very good mood that day.


	4. What did you do? part 1

_**What did you do? /part 1**_

Usually, at night, Ja'far would have been far asleep. Not that one night, though. Not only did everyone inside the house see how young Kari got beaten up to a bloody pulp, hands in awkward angles and stomach rapidly bleeding, but the same night, the kids who have been tense for the past few days stayed up late, whispering about something. If they were smarter, they would have realized he's been eavesdropping. And maybe they were too invested in their debate. Either way, they did not start talking since the lights went out, rushed whispers circling around their little group nonstop.

Few times, when a teacher would go around to check on all of them, they would swiftly fall to the floor, their breaths shallow and limbs unmoving. From his own place, against a wall in a corner, where he always slept, he could hear them just fine. They were not being exactly quiet, it was easy to pick up on what they were saying.

After a while of listening, when he put up the pieces together in his head, his heart started racing rapidly. The kids were planning to run away from the House. They wanted to do so that night, almost at dawn, when only a few were still up, guarding the Gate. The blue pieces of fabric were the markers by which they would move out of the city. Maybe they also marked something else, like knives and other bladed weapons. He clutched the blue marker he took earlier that day in his palm.

There was a window in the room, with slightly opened curtains (a cloth hanging from above to prevent sun rays hitting the room early at night. By the position of the stars Ja'far has been watching simultaneously with the kids, only two hours were left until dawn. If they really wanted to do it, they would have done it already. Or they would have at least looked like they would every moment.

Finally, with a seemingly defeated sigh, a boy, most likely their leader, stood up from his place in the room. He tiptoed to the window, hoisting himself up on the frame and kicking his legs out. Others followed. Unlike their so called leader, they were less careful when they tried to make their way to the only escape route in the room. The white haired boy shut his eyes and stirred a bit in his faked sleep to look more natural. He could have kept being still, but that would give him away. They stopped right in their tracks, petrified.

Slowly, they started moving again, this time more cautious of their movements. When the last of them was out of the window, Ja'far jumped to his feet instantly. He didn't know what to do, if he should follow them or not, if he should let it be or tell the teachers. If he told them, they would get caught and most likely killed. If he didn't tell them, they would escape, but in the morning the teachers would find out and in the end his Master would find out he knew what they were planning. If he knew about the betrayal of their order and didn't tell the authorities about it, he would be in serious trouble. Maybe they would even get rid of him completely. _But if you went with them, hid in the shadows, you would escape this life,_ a little voice inside his head betrayed. What would he do if he got away anyway? He was an assassin through and through. Where would he go? No place would house such a child. He couldn't comprehend there was a place where the order had no power. A place where they never even heard of such a thing like an order of assassins. Where Kahrez' name was not wide known in every dark corner.

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Sorry, we had problems with wifi, for one, two, word doesn't want to let me get past seven hundred words in this document. Part two coming shortly.


	5. What did you do? part 2

YOOOOOOOOOO_OOOOOOOOOO__**OOOOOOOO**_-

**I AM A DIRTY DECEITFUL LIAR OH GODS I'M SO SORRY**

"**SHORTLY" **_**HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?! I'M A DISGUSTING HUMAN BEING OH MY GOD-**_

Dishonor on my _cow_

_**What did you do? /part 2**_

Against his better judgement, he pushed himself to the window frame and jumped out of the room onto a lower roof beneath. He caught sight of the last escaping of the young assassins. Swiftly, he followed them, applying all the knowledge about stealth he collected throughout the years. His heart was racing in his throat and his limbs were shaking. Despite all that, he drew the wires into his palms, freeing the damaged skin underneath them a bit, if a battle would proceed. Subconsciously, he winced from the joint of pain that seeped through his mind, as the threaded appendages ripped open the burned skin. Thankful for his bare feet, he followed them down on one of the bar filled streets.

Not once did they turn around, too invested in escaping to notice the little white haired boy tailing them. Ja'far was glad, because if they did, he was sure they would not care about letting him keep his life. The night was clear, millions of stars shining on the dark sky, with the moon sitting in the heap of the small lights. Tedious, how such a beautiful night went ignored, but still burned into certain minds.  
Before he could see the harbour he smelled the sea and heard the calm sound of waves beating into a nearby cliff. By the time he realized something was very, very wrong, it was already too late.

Because no matter how much you try, you can never escape _Them._ He didn't notice a thing, the stare fixed on his small back was left unnoticed, the shadow lurking behind his just as much.

The blades in his hands became heavier with each step closer to the shore. He followed them so far, but _what next?_ He had no plan whatsoever. One part of him was urging him to get back and forget about them, but the other was begging to get away from that place, to run and not turn back again. He felt more torn than ever, an upsetting feeling that made him lose his own mind into all the what-ifs and alternate possibilities, clouding the reality of a lurking shadow coming closer and closer to his small frame- currently curled behind one particular corner.

A hand snatched him by his hair and hoisted him up. The boy shrieked, startled by the suddenness of it all, which made the older escaping children take notice of the intruders. They started to run for cover, each one probably hoping to be the one that _got away_, but the elder assassins were quick on their feet- and soon, all of the little ones were struggling against the hold on their hands, tears welling up already in their eyes.

The little white haired boy reminded himself to be calm, to be quiet, to be polite and clean and _right_, in every way that would please the assassins who would decide his fate. If he could act his role of an unsuspected watcher and a curious child, who was, in the first place, completely innocent when it came to sneaking out, _maybe_, he thought, _maybe he would get out alive. _

So he stood motionless, willing to go back, to give up the only weapons he had and to betray the other children. He was fully willing to talk, maybe change up a few things, to really sound like an innocent spectator and not a guilty passenger on the escapade train.

When they asked him why he followed the children and didn't report back, Ja'far had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

"I thought I could follow them, to see where they were going, and if it was trouble, to injure a few of them." he continued. "When they are injured, they cannot run, and if they cannot run, they cannot get away. The rest wouldn't leave them- it would be instantly apparent what exactly happened," He glanced at the teachers as he spoke. "I was reckless and stupid. I should have reported." He hung his head down. A terrible shriek rippled through the whole House, as the young traitors were being punished, and Ja'far subtly clenched his small fists.

"Well, it looks like you had some good intentions-" One of them started; to be interrupted by another.

"Yes, he did. But punishment for such behaviour is still deemed appropriate." He looked over the small boy coldly, dead eyes surveying their prey. Another soft cry pierced the silence.  
"Take him to Kahrez. The Master will surely have a, ah, _suitable_, idea." The assassin laughed.

As soon as those words left the elder, Ja'far gave an involuntary shudder, while his small frame started shaking from terror. Hesitantly, he stumbled over to one of the men, who gestured him to follow.

When they neared the horrible sounds and shrieks that drowned the usual silence, the white haired boy couldn't help, but softly whimpered at the horrible, _horrible_ thoughts running through his mind. He had seen enough corpses and deformed faces of his "comrades", children that he didn't really befriend, but just having the luxury of the thought that they wasn't alone in this mess drew them all closer. And while he had no idea what he expected of his life, he didn't want to die so soon and without any dignity left.

He choked back the tears that threatened to roll down his hollowed cheeks, trying to look at least prepared for death.

Five more steps, then ten, then almost a whole dozen- and they stopped in their tracks. The elder dragged him in and very briefly, more than Ja'far liked it, explained his situation. The head assassin didn't even blink or spare a glance at him, only nodded at the right times, like he was truly listening to what the other was saying. Really, he couldn't care less about another insolent child deserving a proper beating.

Even sooner than the other left, Kahrez yanked him by his sleeve and crudely threw him to the ground. He lashed out on the poor boy, fists coming in quicker with each hit, before he resorted to knives, slowly cutting the soft flesh in many places. The blade traced Ja'far's arms, creating long, deep cuts that made him scream and shriek in pain. He cut along the curve of his shoulders, his small waist, until he settled on long cuts along his thighs. He made marks that would hurt forever, even if the physical sensation was long gone, something painful to look at, years after. A mark that would stay no matter what would happen, an anchor to the past.

The little boy sobbed on the ground, tears mixed with blood. He couldn't feel the pain at first, but then it came down to him like a tidal wave, ruining all his barriers that he put up. At those precious moments when he didn't slip into unconsciousness, he promised himself to never disobey the orders again. No matter what, and no matter who.

And he made the promise his own anchor to his sanity.


End file.
